


magic is fake as shit

by unsit_on_hat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, a lil angst, but really only at the beginning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 19:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14063793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsit_on_hat/pseuds/unsit_on_hat
Summary: You trail off. The Mayor is rolling his eyes and tugging on your sleeve. Once he sees that he's captured your attention, he points his crooked finger somewhere beyond your shoulder. You turn your head and look up at the window. At first, you don’t see anything, but then your vision adjusts. Two wide eyes are staring at you from beyond the dark glass.All the lights in Can Town flicker out.





	magic is fake as shit

So here's the thing, right. The Hufflepuff common room is cozy as fuck.

It’s warm but not sweltering, small but not cramped. In the air, there lingers the smell of soil and whatever was for dinner that night. During the day, sunlight streams in through the windows up above. Recently, between classes, you’ve commandeered the table to teach Egbert how to play “muggle” ping pong.

In short, it is the exact opposite what you’re used to.

It makes you uneasy, the mundanity. Any moment now, you are expecting something to jump out and ruin it all, to interrupt this too-sweet quiet. Not that it isn't something you would have enjoyed, the peace, had you only the ability to believe it could last. You know it should be the best sleep of your life, beneath the patchwork quilts. No threat of imminent death by smuppet suffocation or brother smackdown. It should be easy. Except, even after two years and some change at Hogwarts, you can't fall asleep.

You guess it’s the breathing of your roommates. It isn't only that John snores, either. Back home, at the apartment, you always had your own room. You had a lock on the door and the security of knowing that as long as you were there, you were safe. If you had heard breathing in your room, you would have known there was something very very wrong. And now, like, objectively you understand it's just John and Tavros and Equius: the most harmless kids in all existence. None of them had probably ever had a malicious thought in their lives.

But you aren't objective when you close your eyes. Your instincts have adjusted to nothing making sense, to the absence of logic. They had to when the slightest hint of another person's presence meant impromptu metal against metal. (Not to mention bruised self-esteems galore.)

So, you wait until all the older kids have gone to bed and try to fall asleep on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Except, you still feel so _exposed._ It isn't going to work, you decide, as you toss and turn, trying to get comfortable in the most comfortable place on Earth. You decide to take a walk.

You don't know who thought that letting sleep deprived fifteen-year-olds guard the hallways was a good plan. However, you appreciate how easy they are to dodge. When you exit the common room, you hear familiar humming and duck behind a barrel. You wait for a cheerful, if a rather dopey Roxy Lalonde to pass, and creep out into the corridor.

All the Hufflepuffs know how to enter the kitchen. It's just kind of a thing. Face stoic, you tickle the pear on the large still life, which titters and turns into a doorknob. Not weird. Nuh-uh. Nope.

It's around three in the morning, and most of the house-elves are still asleep. Or they give you disapproving stares as you seek out your friend. You are delighted to find the Mayor awake and washing dishes, and his paranoid buddy with the construction tape dozing a safe distance off. The smaller than average house-elf is also happy to see you join him. At least he seems to be, as he pats you on the shoulder in an affectionate manner. You learned early on that the Mayor isn't one for talk, and that suits you fine. It makes you feel better about filling up the silence with your mindless rambling.

“You know what I don't get, right? Animaguses. Animagi? Like, fuckin, okay, you can turn into an animal, right? That part makes sense to me, for the most part. I mean, shit's bananas, but all within normal magic rules, or something. But like, what happens to fricking Professor Darkleer's brain when he goes all ‘friendship is magic’ on us, huh? Does he have a pony brain? How does he turn back then? Like, I've come to terms with all this weird wizardy shit, but science is still a thing. Motherfuckin... neurons and shit. I wonder if there's any side effects of that. Come to think of it, the man does spook easy.”

You consider this for a moment, scrubbing one side of a pan in silence. The Mayor concentrates on a particularly stubborn plate stain. You wonder why they don't use magic to clean the dishes. It would be a lot quicker.

"How's Can Town going, by the way?"

The Mayor swivels his head excitedly and abandons the plate to tug at your pajamas. He drags you over to the far corner where he’s created the world's most adorable metropolis (much to the chagrin of his peers). You are fairly certain he filtered through Filch's trash to find all those cat food tins. In the middle of it all is a miniature Ministry of Magic, surrounded by a series of roads and storefronts. There are candy wrapper flags and empty ink bottles that function as barrels and tables for outdoor cafes. The most recent addition appears to be toothpick lampposts with carefully folded paper box lanterns.

“Mayor, these lampposts are delightful. Just absolutely fuckin delightful.” The house-elf beams at the compliment. You frown. “There's something missing, though.” The Mayor's expression morphs from pride to confusion when you fumble for your wand. You try to recall the spell you've been working on in Charms.

“Lumos parvares,” You murmur, and nothing happens. But, after a few more attempts and some verbal abuse directed at your wand, you are finally successful. Several small balls of light appear from your wand, circling it until you direct each of them to a lantern. Can Town lights up like an airport runway. The soft glow gave the city a much warmer feel than the moonlight filtering through the windows. You didn’t do the spell _perfectly_ , so the lights are scarlet rather than yellow, but the Mayor doesn't seem to mind. He applauds and performs an excited little dance. You grin.

“You know they won't last forever, man. It's a concentration spell, so when I leave, they're all gonna, y'know, _poof_.” You make a little gesture with your hand to demonstrate.

The Mayor stops dancing, and you feel like you’ve swallowed a stone. You hate disappointing the little guy.

“Sorry, it's just the way this magic shit works, dude. Especially for someone as inexperienced as me. I'm so green it's like I live in the city of Oz. 'Cept when you take off those weird-ass glasses and everyone turns back to flesh-color or whatever, I stay the same. The wizard be flying in his pimpin' hot air balloon and seeing me on the ground thinking, ‘That ain't natural,’ as if he hadn't altered societal norms with his toxic-ass mandatory shades idea and...”

You trail off. The Mayor is rolling his eyes and tugging on your sleeve. Once he sees that he's captured your attention, he points his crooked finger somewhere beyond your shoulder. You turn your head and look up at the window. At first, you don’t see anything, but then your vision adjusts. Two wide eyes are staring at you from beyond the dark glass.

All the lights in Can Town flicker out.

There’s a face in the window, watching you and the house-elf, at least it was until it sees you looking back. Then it flushes and jumps back into the darkness before you can try to figure out where you recognize it from.

 

“Dude, are you okay? You’re acting really weird”

You grace John with a vacant expression, biting your lip. It’s a fair question. You’ve been distracted all through breakfast. He does look worried, and you feel a little guilty for ignoring him.

Next to your best bro (you knew it the moment the buck-toothed kid stumbled into your otherwise empty compartment on the train--- it was Bros at First Sight), Jade pauses from recounting her adventures at the owlery to shoot you a curious glance. Rose, of course, only sits there expectantly. Like she knows everything that’s ever caused a zygote of fear or insecurity in your breast. She probably does.

“Nah, I’m fine, man. Just got like, no sleep last night and I am zero percent ready for Transfiguration.”

“It seems you have made a gross miscalculation,” a sudden voice behind you makes you flinch, even after living with it for thirteen years. Rose remains unaffected, smirking at you as she sips at her orange juice. “Clearly you are 500% ready for Transfiguration, considering the righteous savant with whom you share your genetics. Namely, myself.” He offers a fistbump which you reciprocate with as much enthusiasm as a cool kid such as yourself can express while still retaining your all-important image.

“Damn, you’re right. Thanks for the timely reminder, bro.” Hal lowers his douchemobile shades and winks at you. Then he ambles over to sit with John’s and Rose’s older sisters further down the table.

Jade snorts derisively and declares Striders to be a silly breed, indeed. Of course, this warrants immediate correction via completely true rap ballad on your family history. Which takes up the rest of breakfast. Unfortunately, Jade and Rose have Charms, which is on the opposite side of the castle. So you have to postpone the rest of your sick rhymes until lunch.

By the time you and John part ways with the girls, you’ve completely forgotten what it was you were supposed to be distracted about.

 

Transfiguration actually doesn’t end up being that terrible.

You and Terezi get through the lecture by making awful doodles of Darkleer with a horsehead and giggling too loudly. She’s a welcome companion in the classes you share with Slytherin. Nine times out of ten John abandons you to fight Tavros for the attention of Serket.

Predictably, Equius spends the entire period kissing juggalo ass. (Which he has been since he found out Gamzee’s dad was the head guy of the Wizardgamy? Wizengamete? Whatever. Magic judge guys.)

Nepeta patiently sits alongside her best friend, while working on doodles of her own. This worries you. The last time you caught a glimpse of her textbook, you’re pretty sure you saw a drawing of you and Tavros getting a little too friendly. You expressed your concerns to Rose, but she only raised her eyebrow and said you were jumping to conclusions. _But_ _my fellow scholastic peer, what a fascinating revelation you’ve given me into your subconscious..._  

So that’s basically the last time you told Rose anything important ever.

The guy with the hipster glasses keeps pestering Feferi. She seems oblivious to his advances, or else, _very_ concentrated on the subject matter. Knowing her, it could be either. Eventually, he gives up, slumps down in his chair, and pouts petulantly for the rest of the class.

After Transfiguration, you have Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Ravenclaws. It would be cool to see Rose again except for the fact that you might not be there at all as far as she is concerned.

As far as you can tell, she pays very little attention in her other classes, even if she's somehow always ready when the professor calls on her. Yet, in DADA (which you have come to call it both in reference to your favorite art form, as well as a nod to the ironic Freudian implications) (no, Lalonde, you said _ironic_ ), she eats up about half of the allotted time with her own queries. Normally, you would appreciate this, but Rose’s questions are less benign than Peeves on April Fool's. They also tend towards the latter portion of the class’s title, rather than the “defense” part.

Rose is on the verge of outdoing herself today.

“Yes, Miss Lalonde?” The professor sounds tired.

“Sorry to interrupt,” _again,_ “but I was doing the extra credit reading on well-intended curses, and I was wondering whether the one mentioned on page 451 expels the victim’s entrails through the surrounding flesh, or whether it is a type of localized apparition.”

You lower your head down to your desk and bang it against the surface repeatedly. John looks like he’s going to be sick. So does the professor.

“I don’t understand what’s so terrible about generating class discussion,” she complains when you’re let out for lunch. “At least, there was no need to take points away for asking a harmless question.”

You snort. “ _Harmless_? I’m pretty sure John almost lost his breakfast.”

“I did not!” retorted John indignantly. “I’m not a _baby_.”

The three of you bicker until you reach the Great Hall, and meet up with Jade at your usual spot. Her hair is singed, and she does not look happy.

“What happened?” John cried.

You shake your head at your friend in disapproval. It’s obvious what’s happened here. “Don’t be an idiot, John, it’s obvious what’s happened here. Jade’s a dragon charmer.” Jade glares at you, clearly Not In The Mood.

But the train has already left the station on this one, sorry folks. The Strider Express is making its way down the tracks with no signs of stopping. Choo, choo, motherfuckers. “Everyday, she absconds to the forbidden forest to have a crazy shindig with her scaly friends, but today things got too wild up in party-town. The Weird Sisters got a little too weird if you know what I-OWWWW! What the fuck.”

Jade looks like she’s at least slightly alleviated her bad mood by aggrieving your shin. “It wasn’t a dragon,” she says, trying not to smile at your pain.

“Really,” says Rose, deadpan.

Jade gives a small giggle and rolls her eyes. “It was Karkat, silly.”

“Again? What’s Vant-ass done this time? He get into another argument with himself?” You ask, and you sound a little more interested than you would like. What can you say? The kid’s tirades are fucking hilarious.

John elbows you. “Dave, don’t be mean!” You steal a grape from his lunch.

“Not until our supposed ‘shrinking solution’ spontaneously combusted,” mutters Jade, ignoring Egbert. “Of course, when I tried to tell him it was alright and to shut up, he acted like I murdered his firstborn child.”

“I don’t know why you even partner up with that guy,” you say. “He’s kind of a disaster magnet.”

“It was either him or Ampora.” Jade makes a face.

“What, did Kanaya abandon you for Spiderbitch again?”

“Dave!” John slaps you. “Don’t talk about Vriska like that.”

Rose looks like she’s got a migraine. _Yeah, that’s right, Lalonde, I saw that._ Like you haven’t noticed how she’s been trying to get the girl’s attention ever since the sorting ceremony. It’s painfully obvious, especially for Rose, who is usually the master of strategic subtlety. You take pity and decide to change the subject. You poke at John’s arm.

“Dude, Egbert, Halloween’s in two weeks and if you have any spoopy plans for the occasion, I have yet to hear about them. I thought you were supposed to be a _master prankster_. It’s your time to shine my pal. Time to take the spotlight and make your move. Time to totally dominate.”

John scrunches his eyebrows together. “ _Spoopy_?” Jade looks confused as well, but Rose cackles.

“Oh shit, that’s right. You backward-ass degenerates don’t have the internet. Damn, how do I explain this…”

 

You’ve got Herbology with the Gryffindors next, so Jade walks out to the greenhouses with you and John. You’re arguing over the merits of a _Little Monsters_ themed prank. It turns out John isn’t _completely_ ignorant when it comes to non-magical culture. His Nana is a squib and apparently owns every terrible movie humanity has ever produced.

(Not only that, but John is a very skilled magician. Not, like, with actual magic, but the muggle kind. With card tricks and rabbits in hats and all that jazz.)

“Dude, nobody is going to get the reference,” you say, for about the millionth time.

“Bull _crap_. Most everyone here is at least a half-blood.”

“Yes, but, and I hate to break it to you, the rest of us happen to have actual taste.”

“Jade?” John gives her a pleading look, but she only shrugs.

“Yeah, sorry John. I’ve literally never seen that movie before in my entire life, and Grandpa _loves_ movies.”

“Hmph,” he humphs and doesn’t speak to either of you the rest of the way to class.

The professor’s laid-back nature had, at the beginning of first year, fooled everyone into thinking Herbology would be an easy class. It’s not. It isn’t necessarily very intellectual work, not at this stage, but that doesn’t mean you are let off the hook.

You’re sweaty and wiping dirt onto your brow with soiled fingers when you happen to look up and catch sight of the bane of Jade’s morning. Vantas bares his teeth in concentration and appears thoroughly absorbed in the task at hand. It’s only then that you remember the face peering through the window. _That_ face.

You feel stupid for not realizing it before. You noticed that the tiny Gryffindor was acting odd at the beginning of class. He failed to snark back a rebuke after you'd wiggled your fingers at him, and turned sharply away from you instead. At the time, you felt confused and acted hurt (only for show, of course). Now you understand.

You corner him on the path when it’s time to leave. "You look tired, Vantas. Are you getting enough sleep?" You ask with a smirk.

He scowls at you. "Thanks, Strider, you also look like shit."

You clasp your hand to your heart, acting wounded. "Is the treatment a guy deserves for being concerned for his fellow bro? Not cool man. Not cool."

"Oh, go shove it up your waste chute." Not as creative or scathing as usual. Karkat is definitely off his game.

Nevertheless, you wiggle your eyebrows in response. "Kinky."

He shoots you a disgusted glare, and darts off to catch up with Kanaya. You spend a few too many seconds contemplating his retreating back.

 

You wait for him the next night.

After the first few hours, you regret not bringing a warmer cloak. It’s approaching mid-October, and there is not enough daytime sun for warmth to linger long after dusk. You remember what Jade said, about sneaking out at night. That making it outside is easy enough, that the hard part is finding a way back _in_ before breakfast. When you asked Jade how she knew so much about such _illicit activities_ , she only smiled uneasily and winked like she didn’t have much practice with it. There’s something going on with her, you know, but hell if you’re going to get all up in her personal business. That’s Rose’s job.

You shiver at the idea of waiting the whole night for someone who might not even show up and start to reconsider your plan. At least you had the sense to bring the magic-compatible MP3 player Dirk gave you for your birthday. (Though you have a feeling he was just trying to outdo Hal, who upgraded some sick-nasty new features onto your mixing equipment.) Typically, electronics and the magical world get on like tourists and the white-hot Texas sun. But your brothers have minds to rival the heat of the most blistering August day.

Bro gave you a two-liter bottle of orange soda. Warm and flat for maximum ironies. Good old Bro.

Okay, so maybe the MP3 wasn’t such a blessing. Because you’re so absorbed in the music that you almost miss it when the target of your stakeout stumbles into your peripheral vision. He sees you and tries to scurry away, but you’re faster. You tackle him to the ground.

The guy flat-out _hisses_ at you.

You hold your ground, knee on his back, with not enough force that he can’t breathe, but enough so he can’t get away either.

“What the actual fuck,” he wheezes.

“Could ask you the same thing. You stalking me, Vantas? It’s alright, I won’t judge. I totally understand why you’d want to spend every waking moment basking in the rays of my aesthetic perfection.”

He snorts. “In your dreams, bulgemuncher.”

“Well then, what are you doing out here?”

“Remind me again why that’s any of your _fucking_ business?

“Saw you peepin’ at me and the mayor last night. Didn’t peg you as a voyeur, bro, but wait a second _I absolutely did._ ”

He struggles and curses but once he realizes he’s not escaping, he sighs. “Okay fine, that was me, but I wasn’t trying to spy on you. Was just going about my business, staying _in my lane unlike some fuckers_ , and I just happened to witness your pathetic attempt at lighting the streets of Can Town.”

You frown. “How do you know about Can Town?”

“Strider, I’m the fucking sheriff. I made half of those lampposts your weak ass tried to illuminate, just last week.” You consider this, admittedly a little jealous the mayor has other secret pals. But that can wait.

“How come I’ve never run into you before, then? It’s been three years. It should have happened at some point or another.”

“Maybe I would be more inclined to explain if you would kindly _fucking remove your frond nub from my spine_.” You kind of want to keep him pinned, just to watch him squirm, but part of you feels bad now that you know he wasn’t intentionally spying on you. So you release him without ceremony, standing silently as he brushes himself off and mutters obscenities.

You raise your eyebrows expectantly. “Well?”

“We’ve never met up, because I visit the mayor during the daylight hours, like a respectable human being with actual manners.” Then, like an afterthought: “Plus I have other things to do at night.”

A few moments of silence, and you can’t help yourself: “Wow, that was the most fucking ambiguous and dramatic thing I’ve ever hard. _Please_ tell me you’re about to stare off into the distance and start singing like a Disney princess.”

“Shut up,” he snarls. “If you don’t want to freeze to death before breakfast, you’ll stop being an asshole for just one fucking second out of your miserable life.”

That gives you pause. “Wait, you know a way back in? How the fuck…”

He smirks, clearly pleased that he has the upper hand. “Not exactly. Follow me.”

And so you do.

 

“No fucking way. Not in your life, not for all the premium-grade organic apple juice in the world, am I going near that thing.”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “It won’t hurt you.” He pauses and reconsiders. “Or, at least, nothing more than a few welts. I still have some scars from when we were first getting to know each other. But we’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we?” This last (dare you say fond?) query is directed at the monstrosity that somehow qualifies as a tree. You halt at what could hardly be considered a safe distance from the Whomping Willow, but Karkat treads closer still. All but prepared for an impromptu trip to the hospital wing (and definite suspension) when the thing sends him flying, you are surprised when the tree lets the Gryffindor close enough to touch. However, when you finally get the guts to move closer yourself, it shifts violently, ready to knock you into oblivion.

Frozen, you ready yourself for the impact, but it never comes. When you open your eyes, you are faced with the ridiculous sight of Karkat patting the trunk of the Whomping Willow, and shooshing it like it’s a baby.

He turns to you. “Slower, Strider, you startled it.”

“ _Me_ ?” You whisper loudly, though the other boy spoke in a normal voice. “ _I_ startled _it_?”

“Oh just come on, you enormous shitstain.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“Come over and you’ll see.”

It’s a secret passage. You follow Karkat, uncharacteristically mute, until you arrive wherever it is it leads. As you walk he goes on about how the Whomping Willow has a knot on its trunk you can press that paralyzes it. But since he took to pruning it at night, after noticing the lack of care it was receiving from the school, it had taken a certain liking to him. It does seem fitting, though ridiculous, you reflect, that the violent tree and the moody Gryffindor had formed an unlikely alliance.

Finally, you find yourself in what appears to be a run-down old house, which smelled of mice and must. “Where are we?” you ask.

“You can’t tell? The Shrieking Shack.”

Your heart’s in your throat, and your eyes dart to the windows, but they are too dusty to see through. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Hey, I know it’s not Can Town, but it’s better than frostbite or getting caught out after curfew.” He has a point. Still.

“Isn’t this place supposed to be like, haunted, or something?” You’re not afraid of ghosts. In fact, you fucking love ghosts. Of course, you’ve always had a fascination with dead things. But this is different. Not even Hogwarts ghosts enter the Shrieking Shack. You shiver.

Karkat bites his lip, like he wants to say something, but restrains himself. “No… at least not this time of the month.”

Well, that was ominous. But you’ll come back to that later. Karkat lights some candles and you calm down a little as the room is illuminated. Now that you look around, you notice that the Shrieking Shack looks pretty well lived in for being allegedly abandoned. The crumbling walls and boarded windows are lined with sheets to keep out the wind. It looks as though Karkat even managed to smuggle a mattress in here, next to neat piles of shitty-looking paperbacks and… a collection of squiddles? More importantly though-

“Dude, is that a poster of Will Smith?”

“It sure as fuck is. No need to get jealous.”

You can’t help yourself, and let out an embarrassing giggle. Karkat peers at you curiously.

“What?” Shit, you’re blushing. Shit.

For once, he’s courteous and doesn’t call you out on it. “Nothing, just wondering how long you spend trying to make your hair up like Justin Timberlake circa ‘99.”

“That’s cold, Vantas.”

You spend the next few hours complaining about professors together and sharing your music with him. He doesn’t like any of it except the one cheesy pop album you downloaded that you like to pretend you don’t love. “Yeah Hal put it on there as a joke,” you told people when they asked. Hal did not. (What he did do was illegally download the entire soundtrack to Newsies, which you had to delete because there wasn’t enough space on the mp3.)

Karkat shows you cuttings he’s taken of the Whomping Willow, little twigs that already try their best to whack you if you get too close. He says it’s a pain in the ass to water them, and you ask him why the hell he thought it would be a good idea to make _more_ evil trees. Karkat responds that when he graduates and gets his own place, he’ll need some sort of defense against shit-for-brains Hufflepuff trespassers tackling him in the middle of the night. Besides, he says proudly, he’s training them, and when he’s done with them, they’ll be the most obedient motherfuckers you’ve ever seen Strider. Make a note of that. Just then, one of the baby trees strikes him on the chin, leaving a red mark.

He doesn’t tell you how he knows about the underground passage, and you don’t ask. You know how easily the boy becomes cagey, and he would have brought it up had he wanted you to know. Besides, you think, everyone is entitled to their secrets.

**Author's Note:**

> So this took me an... /inordinately/ long time to write, and I wouldn't expect an update anytime soon. I do want to continue working on this, though. I've got it planned out in three sections, but it might end up longer than that depending on how well the story cooperates. Hmu if you have any questions about the universe, want explanations for house placements, or just want to chat. My Tumblr is the same as my ao3 username, with dashes instead of underscores (unsit-on-hat). It's not my main- I don't check it daily, so if I don't respond immediately I'm not ignoring you. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you have comments pls feel free to leave feedback of any kind. I'll do my best to get you chapter two within the next couple weeks if I'm not too busy with classes. *fingers crossed*


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